Sweet Dreams
by Unwittingly
Summary: Pre-1.05. Sam is having trouble sleeping.


All throughout Sam's infant and toddler years, Dean was the one that took care of him when he needed it. Even when John was there, which wasn't often, Dean was still Sam's parental figure. If Sam got sick, Dean was the one that nursed him back to health. If Sam got hurt, Dean was the one that cleaned and wrapped the wound.

If Sam had a nightmare, Dean was the one that would comfort him and croon him back to sleep.

He never really realized how much of his mother's habits stuck with him throughout the years. When Dean couldn't sleep, she'd lay next to him in the bed and rub his arm gently, telling him that she would never leave his side. 'It's okay, baby. Don't be afraid. Mommy's here.'

On the nights when the nightmares came, Dean would always be the first to know, not just because they shared a bed, but because he started to recognize the signs. It'd start with the shaking, which he used to mistake for Sam simply being cold, until he'd start curling up into the fetal position and covering his head. At that point, Sam'd start mumbling to himself until eventually he started screaming. John would wake up thinking something was in the room, then get angry when he realized it was just another of Sam's dreams.

But Dean understood Sam's dreams. It wasn't just him being afraid of the dark or having your average child's nighttime fears - he was recalling memories of Mary's death. Sam didn't know this; he'd just curl up next to Dean and cry, begging him not to let the fire get him. 'It's everywhere, Dean, it's so bright. Don't let it get me. I don't wanna burn up.' Dean knew, and he would hold Sam close and rub his arm until he fell back asleep. 'Don't worry, Sammy. Nothing's gonna get you. I'm right here.'

Soon enough, Dean figured out how to predict the nightmare was coming and without being told, without Sam even knowing, Dean'd wake up and help him find his solace.

Twenty years later, things are still the same. Sam's older, and very aware of what he's dreaming about, but nothing's really changed. The shaking, the cowering. The way he screams Jessica's name at the top of his lungs. Dean knows. But Sam is so closed off these now. There's no coming to him for guidance, no telling him what's going on. Not that he really needs to, Dean already knows, but still. He's taken care of the kid all his life, the least he could do is talk to him. Or let him give him shit.

It's been about a month since Jessica's death and Sam's been having the dreams for weeks, but Dean has't commented on them much. He's waiting for Sam to bring it up, or to say _something_, but all he gets is a snide remark before he moves on to another topic. It's...frustrating, to say the least.

One night, Dean wakes up to the shaking again. Usually he can't hear it from the other bed, but tonight it's especially loud. Hopefully that means Sam'll say something about it. Dean quickly turns on the bedside light and reaches under his bed to pull out a gun, which he promptly starts taking apart and cleaning. He wants to make it look like he's been up the whole time when Sam finally comes to.

Which he does, with a start. "Jessica!" he cries, sitting up abruptly and breathing heavily. The light's presence halfway blinds him and he squints a little as he turns to see Dean staring at him with raised eyebrows.

"Again, dude?" he teases, putting down the cloth and piecing the gun back together, "What, do you need me to come sleep with you again like when we were kids?"

Sam shakes his head and rolls his eyes, "Shut up, Dean." He lays back down and turns his back to him, which means no caring and sharing for the Winchester brothers tonight. Dean isn't sure whether to be upset or relieved. He keeps the teasing tone in his voice, but if Sam were to actually look at his face, he'd see just how concerned Dean really is.

"Need me to tuck you in? Kiss you on the forehead? Read you a bedtime story?"

"_Goodnight_, Dean." Grumpy pants.

He watches as Sam's breathing evens out and eventually eases back to sleep. Dean doesn't keep track of how much time passes, hours or maybe just a matter of minutes, looking back and forth between the gun he's putting back together and his sleeping baby brother. For a moment, he believes this is the end of it, that the nightmare has passed.

But then there's the slightest of shifts and it starts all over again.

Sam's shaking like he's naked in the Arctic circle, and he tucks his knees closer to his chest. Cowering. Afraid. And so very, very alone. Dean gets up and sits beside him, watching for only a second as the mumbled cries start spilling from Sam's lips. "No. No, no. I'm sorry, Jess, I'm so sorry. Please, no."

_God_, if there wasn't anything Dean would do to take this all away. But all he can do is rub Sam's arm gently, "It's okay, Sammy. I'm right here. It's okay."

And for the first time since he was a child, Sam sleeps soundly, undisturbed by the nighttime terrors that plague his dreams.


End file.
